47. Ava #3
He’s quiet, studying me. A tear slips down my cheek, and he watches its descent, his eyes dark.
“Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
God, why can’t I give in to him? I want to. My heart longs for his. It’s my head, that’s the problem.
“I told you I’d wait for you, Ava. I meant it.”
I glance back up at him, unsure what to say. It’s the first time we’ve talked about us since he started coming here.
It’s stupid, but I can’t help the laugh that comes out more like a sob.
“You drove here in a snowstorm, you idiot.”
He shrugs. “And I’ll do it a thousand times more.”
He takes a cautious step towards me, stopping just close enough that the scent of him washes over me. My body aches for his, but I stay rooted in place.
He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it, cautiously stepping just a little bit closer. He doesn’t push me any further, and his hand feels so good around my cold fingers that I want to sink into him.
“If you think my feelings have changed, you’re wrong,” he says quietly. “I know I hurt you . . . but I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if that’s what it takes.”
I don’t know why a bitterness unfolds in my chest. Maybe it’s because I can’t get my head to cooperate, but a small part of me wants to lash out, even if I hate myself for it.
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
His lips tip up at the corner, and that’s when I know. “Then, I’ll find another way to make you love me again.”
I can’t bring myself to tell him I never stopped.
“I’m starting to think you’re letting me win.”
He smirks. “Maybe I’m just shit at Uno .”
The power went out—surprise, surprise—three hours ago, and for some odd reason, I just wasn’t ready for him to go. He taught me how to make chili over the fire, and after, we dissolved into playing Uno at the coffee table with nothing else to do.
“It’s Uno. Kids play this game,” I laugh, and he throws a piece of pre-made popcorn at me.
“Alright, brat.”
I reach for my wine glass and find it empty. There wasn’t actual wine in it, I just don’t have any other cups. When I’d offered, he’d held up his hand, telling me he’s sober. I can’t lie, I may have teared up a little at that admission. So . . . we’d both opted for soda instead.
The sun set a while ago, and outside, I can hear the wind whipping against the side of the house. It’s snowstorms like these that make me wish I lived somewhere warm, like Hawaii, but then I remember the warmer the climate, the bigger the bugs are, and that’s just not something I think I’m up for.
“I should get going,” Levi says quietly. My gaze cuts to his, and I find him watching me, a carefully guarded expression on his face.
My heart hammers unsteadily in my chest. I look past him out the window, watching the snow fall.
Cross Estate is only twenty minutes from here, but the roads will be icy. Not to mention the blistering cold.
“Y-you can stay,” I say, so quiet I’m not sure the words make it past my lips. My throat feels tight, my breath shallow.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies me, his gaze steady but unreadable, as if he’s weighing the risks. The silence stretches until I start to wish I could take the words back, as though saying them might have shifted something fragile between us.
“It’s dangerous out there,” I murmur, trying to fill the space. “And slick. I can make up the couch.”
His jaw tightens—just barely. His eyes linger on mine like he’s searching for something, some hidden meaning I’m too afraid to put into words.
He doesn’t move toward me, but I see the way his fingers flex at his side, like they’re fighting the urge to reach for me.
My own hands are clenched in my lap, every muscle coiled, waiting for him to decide.
The storm outside presses against the glass, but it’s nothing compared to the one sitting between us.
I almost think he’s going to deny me, and embarrassment floods through me at the prospect of his rejection.
“You sure that’s okay with you?” he asks finally.
I try to come up with a reason why it wouldn’t be, but I only come up short.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat, and neither of us moves.
God, what am I doing?
I hop up before I can make a bigger fool of myself and head towards the bedroom.
“I’ll get some blankets.”
The wind beats against the side of the house, the sound howling in the night outside my window.
I’m lying on my side, watching the snow fall. Reminiscing about the life I thought I wanted, versus the one I have now.
Oddly enough, I wouldn’t ask for anything different.
These budding feelings in my chest, reminding me that Levi is out on my couch, are intense. New and vibrant and so much more than I bargained for.
Can I forgive him?
He protected me from the shadows lurking around me, shielding me from so much that even when I wanted to hate him for it, I couldn’t. I still can’t.
The man I met almost a year ago at Cross Estate isn’t the same one asleep on my couch tonight. He’s so much more.
Patient and gentle. Strong and steady when the rest of the world feels so unstable. He’s the rock that held me up when Gran died, and the same one that cradled me when I crumpled.
I keep waiting for the moment when my heart is no longer broken, but the problem is that it never really was. Because deep down, no matter why he did it, he did it because he loved me.
So the question ‘Can I forgive him’?
I already have.
Without thinking, I climb from the bed and hurry towards the bedroom door. An intense ache burns in my veins, knowing the only solace is him.
Levi and I aren’t black and white. We’re every color of the rainbow that doesn’t make sense, but somehow turned into something beautiful anyway.
I rip the door open, and my breath gets caught in my chest when I see him standing there, dark eyes and tousled hair, and God, I think it just hit me how much I miss him.
He had been about to knock because his hand drops to his side.
“I . . .” he starts, unsure what to say.
So, I make sure he doesn’t have to.
I throw myself into his arms and drag his lips down to mine, kissing him feverishly.
And for the first time since I moved back to Gran’s, it feels like coming home.
His groan rumbles through me, and I climb up his torso, allowing him to lift me off my feet and cradle me in his arms.
This kiss is desperate and full of everything neither of us has been able to say.
My heart does cartwheels in my chest, while my mind comes up with every possible scenario. One after another. Good. Bad. Beautiful.
They all lead me back to the same place.
Him.
It’s always been him.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he rasps against my lips, his hands trembling where he touches me.
His fingers slide up into the back of my hair, pressing me closer to him until there’s not an inch of space between us.
My body vibrates. My heart may as well take a leave of absence.
I’m not sure it’s even functioning properly with how hard it’s beating.
I keep kissing him, not ready to give him up. It’s been such a long time, the nights stretching endlessly without him. I crave him with every fiber of my being.
Everything else can wait.
When the kiss breaks, Levi’s eyes never leave mine as he carries me deeper into the room. There’s something primal in his gaze—something possessive, almost reverent. Like he can’t believe I’m real. Like he’s afraid I might disappear if he lets go.
“Tell me this is real,” he says, his voice rough and low.
“It’s real,” I whisper, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Tell me not to touch you, Ava, and I’ll stop. I don’t want to do this if you aren’t ready.”
“I’m ready,” I breathe. Reaching up, I trace the scar on his lip with my fingertips, and he closes his eyes against my touch. “I’m tired of living without you.”
“You’ve always had me, Ava.”
He groans and his mouth crashes down on mine before I can say anything else—hungry, claiming, desperate. I taste the fire in him. The restraint barely leashed. The heat that’s been simmering between us for far too long.
He sets me down, but only so his hands can roam. My T-shirt hits the floor, and his jeans follow. He lays me back on the bed and looms over me, watching me like I’m the most goddamn beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Like I’m his religion now.
His shirt drops to the floor, revealing skin I’ve touched a hundred times but never like this—as his. Every hard plane, every muscle shifting under ink and scars, is mine now. And God, the way he looks at me, like he’s starving, sends a wicked thrill down my spine.
Levi crawls onto the bed, slow and predatory, and settles between my thighs like he belongs there—because he does.
“I’ve missed you so fucking much, baby girl . . .” he breathes, his hands roaming my body. “And I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much you mean to me.”
The night passes in a blur. I can’t tell where his body begins and mine ends, but I know I never want to give him up again. Never want to feel like half my heart is missing.
I claim every inch of him the same way he claims me. Feverishly. Hungrily.
“Say it,” I whisper, so lost in riding him, all it would take is a breath of air, and I would come.
“Fucking hell,” he curses, his head falling back to the pillows. He drags his hand through my hair and tugs me down, pressing his lips against mine. “I love you, Ava. Is that what you want to hear? How fucking desperate I am for you?”
“Yes,” I whimper, unable to do much else but roll my hips against him. His groin brushes my clit, and he holds me there, one hand in my hair and the other on my ass, moving me over his cock. “I love you,” I gasp, and that’s all it takes.
I splinter around him, crying out his name as I clamp down hard, the orgasm ripping through me like lightning. My vision whites out. My body bucks.
I feel him everywhere—under my skin, in my blood, deep inside me.
Levi flips us in a blur of motion, like instinct takes over. He drives into me once, twice—and then he’s coming with a low, feral growl. His body tenses above mine, his head buried in my neck as he spills into me with a broken curse and my name.
The only sound is the wind howling outside and the ragged rhythm of our breathing. His body is still pressed against mine, skin slick with sweat, hearts pounding in sync.
And then he leans down, brushing his lips over mine, so soft it breaks something inside me.
“I love you, Ava,” he breathes against my lips, like it’s sacred.
He tucks a strand of damp hair behind my ear, the pad of his thumb brushing my cheek.
“I will love you until I take my dying breath,” he continues, his hand snaking up and his finger under my chin.
“In this life and the next. I love you, Ava Ryan. So much so that being without you feels like someone robbed half of who I am.”
The words are a vow and a warning, dark and absolute.
I should feel trapped by that kind of promise.
But instead?
I feel free.
This man—this psychopath—is mine.
And I have no intention of giving him up ever again.